They said quick goodbyes, and he walked into the room to find that Fowler had set everything up. Lighting, cameras, Trailblazers-branded backdrop—they were all ready to go. A stool sat between two cameras for him to perch on, with a second directly across from him for the player being interviewed.
“Do you think this corner needs more lighting?”
Fowler didn’t even blink. “No.”
“Are you sure it won’t look too dark on camera?”
“I’m sure.”
Bennett sat on the second stool and took in the cameras facing him from multiple directions. Was four too many? Would the guys be intimidated?
Nah. They were pro hockey players. They were used to being in the spotlight.
“We need another camera over here.”
Fowler crossed his beefy arms over his chest. “No, we don’t.”
“But that angle?—”
“Is one you ask me to set up every time we work together on a project but that you never end up using in the final cut.”
Bennett frowned. That couldn’t be true.
“But what about?—”
“Bennett,” Fowler said firmly. “Stop trying to control everything. I know how to do my job.” He didn’t sound annoyed or angry. Just calmly matter-of-fact.
“No, I know that. Obviously. I just . . .” Running a palm over his jaw, Bennett let out a breath. He needed this docuseries to go well. This was career make-or-break. He couldn’t afford another failed project.
“You’re still smarting over Chain of Command’s reception and you’re worried this will be another flop.”
“Christ.” Bennett stood, wiping his palms on his thighs. “Take your brutal honesty somewhere else, would you?”
Fowler cracked a smile at that. “Put your game face on. Your first interviewee is about to arrive.”
“Who is it anyway?” He was about to check his email when Kyle Dabbs poked his head into the room.
“Hey. Am I in the right place?”
“Hey, man.” Bennett held out a hand for a shake. “You’re up first, huh?”
“Figured it was my duty as team captain. Fowler, good to see you again. So? Bennett, where do you want me? Over here, I’m guessing.”
Heedless of the cameras, Dabbs sat on the stool in front of the Trailblazers’ backdrop, taking charge of the room like only a team captain could. It rankled more than Bennett wanted to admit—this was his gig—so he pasted on a smile and sat across from him. “I’ll give you a quick rundown of how the next hour will go, and then we’ll get started. Fowler will be on hand in case we have any camera malfunctions.”
Dabbs smiled benignly. “Sounds good. Let’s do this.”
chapter six
“Eli.” In his skates, sweat slicking down his temples, Sandro crossed the locker room during the second intermission to where Eli was moping by his stall. “You okay?”
“I should’ve had that goal.” Eli yanked off a glove and flung it into his stall. “Could’ve tied up the game.”
“Maybe,” Sandro conceded, because Eli should’ve had that goal, but Montreal’s goalie was a brick wall, which explained why the Trailblazers were currently losing. “But it didn’t go your way. So shake it off and focus on the next period.”
“But I should’ve had it.” The other glove hit the back of Eli’s stall with a thump, then joined the first at the bottom.
“Why?”
